So naturally Wednesday night, I got no sleep because I was way too busy worrying and when I woke up at the crack of dawn on Thursday, I was exhausted. I put some clothes on, made sure I had the route to the airport mapped and walked out the door. I made great time to the airport, parked, grabbed my backpack and went to get my suitcase out.

And then I found a whole new traveling fear. Because, dude, I left my suitcase at home. I LEFT MY SUITCASE AT HOME. Who does that?

Oh right, ME.

So I drove home, drove back to the airport, ran to the terminal, which ended up being the wrong one, took a shuttle where a TSA agent LAUGHED at me, and made my flight with 10 minutes to spare. I may never sleep the night before traveling ever again.

Before I even had a ticket for the conference, Jen had told me over and over how much she wanted to go to the photography session on Friday and take a gondola ride, which, in my mind was a boat. Like Venice. Or Las Vegas. So the gondola that ended up being a huge enclosed ski lift of death that got us to the top of an enormous mountain? was sort of a surprise. Though to be fair, I think I handled it better than Brittany.

That night, after we somehow managed to get down the mountain, Brittany and I decided that we would buy liquor for a party we were having for Heather’s birthday in our amazing hotel suite. We had rented the largest SUV in the universe that morning (though ironically, it wasn’t quite large enough to fit all of us, plus the small children and their baby equipment) and we set out to find some booze.

First we tried 7-11. I found all kinds of drink mixes and mixers, but nothing alcoholic except beer. So I asked the checker, who, after looking at me like I was either a) a lush, b) a ho or c) a lush ho, informed me that, no, they do not sell liquor there. And moreover, he had no idea where I would find some, because he was not a lush and/or a ho.

Using the power of google, I found out that there were 4 liquor stores in Park City and got the address of the nearest one. After parking in a garage with a warning sign that basically said: THIS GARAGE IS SO LOW YOUR CAR WILL BURST A BUNCH OF PIPES AND THEN EVERYONE WILL KNOW YOU’RE HERE FOR LIIIIIQUOR, we started walking to the address, which was up a hill and also? Did not exist.

The address did. not. exist.

The more I think about it, the more I think this is an elaborate ruse to get all the heathens and ho lushes to look completely crazy in public. The website I used had an address, with a picture of the building that apparently did not exist.

Well played, Utah.

We got lost on the way home because, lighting street signs is overrated and also, because it was us and there was no way that futile mission would end easily or quickly.

And then I got a bloody nose. Well, like eleven of them.

And then I accidentally flew across the living room while opening up the sofa bed to prove that I didn’t need help. Which may have been more my fault than Utah’s, but whatever.

And then I almost ripped my pinky toe off on a chair.

Utah is hard, yo.

(It’s also really beautiful, by the way)

I walked to the adjacent mall and had my makeup done. I drove to a golf course and got my hair done.

With my mom and sisters holding up the sides, I put on an ivory dress.

I took a thousand pictures and then I walked, holding my father’s arm, down the aisle and held hands with you, my best friend, my fiance.

And then there was a blur of prayers in English and Hebrew, we poured sand into a container and put rings on each others index fingers.

And then, we said some vows and we were married.

We were married.

Around this same time two years ago, you were still a year away from being a doctor, you were still working in clinics as a student, you were still struggling for your good evaluations, worrying about residencies, just trying to make it to the next May. This weekend we went out to dinner and you, a doctor, took phone calls and gave medical advice to parents who called after hours.

I know it sounds silly, but in the past 2 years, I think I got the privilege of watching you go from being an adolescent to being a true grown up. And I love the man you have become just as I loved the young man you were before.

This second year of marriage has been anything but easy. If you ask me, it was tougher than the first year. Yes, we fought with each other less, but I think we fought the world more this year.

I don’t have to remind you that there have been tears, tests, medical bills, and more trials and tribulations than anyone’s marriage deserves in a year, you’ve been there, you’ve felt it all. I hate what this year has been and I hate all that you’ve had to deal with. I sometimes struggle to understand how you’ve stood by me, how you’ve managed to forgive me for things I’ve said, how you’ve offered a shoulder to cry on when it is perpetually damp from my tears.

The only thing that has been consistent through this mess is you. I have accused you of not being supportive enough, but the truth is, you’re doing your best and I know that. Sometimes I need someone to blame, that often unfairly ends up being you. I’m sorry for that. I know that this isn’t the life you signed up for.

When I wake up in the morning and see you asleep next to me, with every square inch of the comforter tucked around you like a cocoon, I feel cold hope. On the days I want to give up, stay home and become a hermit, I see you, I see the life we planned, the one we want and I get up again, and I try harder. You are what has kept me going. You are the strength that everyone compliments me for having. It’s you. It’s all you.

Thank you for loving me in spite of it all. In sickness and in health. In the good times and the really bad ones. For being my friend first, my inspiration, for being my husband. For being you.

I heard a song (okay fine, it was on Glee) a few weeks back and haven’t been able to get it out of my head. At first all I heard was the bitter undertones, but the more I listened, the more I heard little bits of us in it.

One life
with each other…
One life
but we’re not the same
We get to carry each other
Carry each other
One life

I know that this one life hasn’t been what you imagined, or planned or hoped for.

But thank you for carrying me through it anyway.

Happy Anniversary.

I love you more than you’ll ever know.

She guided me to the insurance website and showed me where I could find out how much I’ve been charged for my health care. What I saw astounded me.

I added up my health care costs (before insurance) for just this year. Hell, just since mid-August.

$90,269

This year I have had nearly one hundred thousand dollars of medical care. And I still have this God-forsaken headache.

I can barely begin to describe how frustrating that is. How I have failed so many treatments already. How we still have no idea how to fix this. How we still have no idea what the problem really is.

A few weeks ago, I got an email from a reader who lives in Los Angeles and sees a doctor who is both a neurologist and a pain management specialist. I did my research. The doctor sounded great, perfect actually. The only problem was that I only get one referral per specialist per insurance year. In my insurance, there is no such thing as a second opinion. And of course, I’ve already used my neurology referral for the year.

I set aside the recommendation for August when the new insurance year starts. Though if we’re being honest, I was hoping that I wouldn’t need it.

And then I got an email from my school. From May 15th to August 16th, we can go to any insurance covered provider without a referral. I called the health center to make sure I hadn’t lost my mind (sidenote: the lady at the health center now thinks I’m a totally illiterate moron), and it was true. I’m not a big believer in signs, but uh, I’m pretty sure that was one.

And then May 15th came and went. And I didn’t call the new doctor.

And so did May 16th. And 17th and 18th.

I could not bring myself to pick up the phone.

I don’t want to go to another doctor. I don’t want to move onto pain management. Pain management seems like giving up. It’s like saying that there’s no hope of finding the cause of these headaches. That they really will be here forever. And I hate that thought.

And I hate the connotation that pain management has in some communities.

But more than anything, I hate the way my life is right now. I hate that last week I had a headache that made all (non-lumbar puncture) headaches look like nothing. I hate that the headaches are continuing to get worse, to get more incapacitating. I hate that I’ve lost almost 10 months to this headache now.

And so on Wednesday, I picked up the phone.

I’m seeing the new doctor on June 2nd. I don’t know what to expect, I don’t know what she’ll be able to do for me, if anything.

But I’ve got about 10 months and another 90,269 reasons why I need to try anyway.

To be honest, I’m not sure what to write. Instead of continuing to stare at the blank page, I went back and read my words from a year ago. I hardly recognize that 25 year old. She stood at the precipice to a whole new life. She was preparing for a move across the country. She was getting ready to become a full time student. She was about to begin life as the wife of a doctor.

This 26 year old has done all those things. She is living that new life. Some parts of it are exactly as I expected, others are not. This year of ups and downs, these unpredictable 12 months have flown by.

I don’t know what 27 will bring. I don’t have many expectations, I don’t have many wishes. I want to enjoy this year more. I have spent so much time regretting things this year, so much time wondering how things could be, that I’m afraid I missed a lot of what 26 had to offer.

And so standing in the doorway of 27, I want to slow things down. I want to take more time to appreciate all the things I have, the good and the bad. I want to spend more time enjoying my life instead of worrying about it.

Tomorrow, I turn 27.

I’m ready.

One of my friends has Cushing’s Disease, which is likely going to require brain surgery soon. Another has a heart problem. And I have a crazy screwed up brain. When you sit down and think about it, the odds of the three of us being in the same program at the same time are practically impossibly small.

And today we three anomalies sat and talked for a while.

We talked about the reality of life with disease.

We talked about all the stupid little things we do to try to find control in our lives and how often they totally backfire.

We talked about how hard it is to get up and keep going when things seem like they cannot possibly get worse or seem like they’re never on track to be better.

We talked about how draining this life is. How exhausting it is just to live with pain, with disease.

We sat, a group of 3 people facing completely different challenges, and we shared a bond. Tears were shed, truths that had been long hidden were shared.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel alone.

It’s hard to describe how isolating disease and pain can be. There’s the very obvious missing out on life component that’s easy to understand and to imagine. But there’s a secondary isolation. Sometimes it’s literally your absence from events that you could attend but choose not to, other times it’s more subtle. It’s physically being somewhere, but being detached. It’s the feeling of being completely alone in a room full of people.

Today’s conversation reminded me of the saying that misery loves company. But I don’t think it’s really that simple.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted other people to be miserable or sick or in pain just because I am. Frankly, I don’t wish chronic pain or disease on anyone (okay, very occasionally, in my head, I do). But on days like today where I am surrounded in my misery with others who understand it, I realize that I have missed company. That I do really love it.

I really think that essentially we’re all bearing our own burdens. Even if we can’t admit it to anyone else, we’re all fighting our own misery.

And maybe the key to winning is finding allies who share in those fights, in those experiences. Finding people who provide you company in the face of misery.

A) We went to the Apple store tonight to see if Slappy’s computer could be repaired and it went a little like this:
Apple guy: How can I help you?
Husband: So this MacBook walked into a bathtub, and never said anything again.
Apple guy:…

And now we have he has a new laptop. And also he has a new iPhone case and is in the process of getting new work shoes. Because when he breaks stuff that has to be replaced, he likes to do it all at once and when I have no way to justify buying myself anything.

I think I’m going to throw my computer in the bathtub next week.

2) Remember that one time I asked you to vote for my recipe in the Aiming Low Recipe contest? Well, you all did and then I made it to the final four! Yay!

But I am losing to the lovely Sugar Jones. Boo!

If you haven’t already, go here, watch the videos (and try not to be distracted by Shauna Glenn’s HILARIOUS kids) and if you’re so inclined (and want to make my day/week/month/year), leave a comment voting for my really really great pumpkin cake. The contest closes Friday night at 10pm eastern time and it would be some serious kickassery to win.

III) You can now get my blog by feedburner.

Theoretically.

Because I don’t actually know what feedburner is, except that it sounds like it might hurt and well, there’s a link to the right where you can click to subscribe via email.

Also? If you’re still getting this blog via the old google reader feed from my blogspot site, I’d love it if you’d switch to the new one (on this page, click on add a subscription (top left) and in the box type overflowingbrain.com/feed), because it makes my obsessive life easier. I should throw it out there that I also have no idea how google reader works either, so if this makes no sense, blame it on the sleeping aid for sure.

Internet abilities, for the win!

d) I’m going to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. It was a long complicated deliberation, but ultimately, I’m extremely excited and am hoping that a change of scenery will help me find a way to refocus on school and my upcoming week of hell midterms.

five) Tomorrow is Friday.

Halle-freaking-lujah.

Well, I could.

But with the rain has come snow. And with the snow has come trouble. There is a mountain pass between where my family lives and where I live. That pass was shut down today because of snow and with tomorrow’s predicted storms, will be again. This pass was the route my mom as going to travel tomorrow to stay the night and take me to Friday’s lumbar puncture (attempt #2) because Slappy has to work.

This is not a possibility any longer.

Even if the pass is open, it’s not going to be safe to drive, and I am unwilling to be so selfish that I put my mom in danger. It’s just not an option.

My mom called my aunt and she’s going to take me on Friday, which I greatly appreciate. And then I think I’m staying at my sister’s house on Saturday night because Slappy is on call overnight at the hospital and I’m uncomfortable being left alone.

Ultimately, it’s all going to work out because by and large, my family is incredible. I will have people taking care of me and I will be safe, but it’s hard to deal with this. I feel like such an incredible burden to my family and friends. I feel like now not only does my husband feel bad for not being able to take care of me, but my mom does too. My sister took off an entire day of work last week and now is giving up part of her weekend to babysit me.

Where does it end? I’m 26 years old and I am completely dependent on other people. I appreciate those other people so much, but I know that I am negatively effecting their lives and it breaks my heart to pieces.

My friends can go a week without someone taking care of them, their parents can live thousands of miles away and they’re fine. My friends don’t have to arrange complicated family setups so that they can get safely to one appointment or the next, their parents don’t have to take days and weeks off of school to help them. My friends get to be independent, get to go to school regularly, get to stay on top of their work. They don’t have to call their husbands and mothers each day to say how the day really was. They don’t have to find ways to make things seem fine. My friends and their families get to be normal.

I try not to strive for normalcy too often because after a while, it gets to be too disheartening to never achieve it. But I don’t need normal in my life right now, I need normal for my family. I need for my mom to not cry and worry and pray for me around the clock. I need my sister to not feel guilty for not being able to help again this week, for not being able to help me find a solution to this pain. I need my husband to not feel bad about going to work, to a job where he saves lives. No one should feel guilty for that.

I have surrendered the hope of not having pain. I accept that this is my life, and though it sucks fiercely I can deal with that. I can deal with the changes that have come in my life, I can deal with the fact that my life might never be the way it was or the way it probably should be.

But I cannot accept what it has done to others.

I cannot accept the fact that it has changed so many people besides me. I cannot accept that this chronic pain has distorted and disrupted the lives of those I love. And though I want to be, I’m not optimistic about this test. I don’t think it’s going to be the answer, I don’t think it’s going to be the end of the pain.

But I think it might be the end. I think it might be where I wave the white flag and accept this reality. This is my fight. This is my life. And it’s mine to wage and mine to struggle through. And when the carnage of this battle bleeds into the lives of those I love, I have to draw the line.

I will not let this pain ruin others. I will not let this pain take more prisoners, more victims. It can have me, that should be enough.

I have a real love-hate relationship with 2009. It has been, undoubtedly, one of the most tremendously difficult years of my life, but from that struggle, it has also become one of the most rewarding. I feel like I’ve grown as an adult, a wife, and a woman in so many ways, but also, in that growth, I left behind parts of me I never intended to.

If I had to describe this year in one word, there is no question that it would be bittersweet. It just seems like all the good has been coated and surrounded in bad, ugliness. It seems that all the things I want to remember have faded to the memory of those things I would rather forget.

In January, my very last cousin was born. He is the most gorgeous, precious boy and the light and love he has brought to our family has been immeasurable.

I cannot believe that this (ginormous) infant
<

has become this beautiful toddler.

In February of 2009, I ended up in an emergency room with a CT scan that said I had a tumor. A small one, but in a bad place. A tumor that my neurologist said is either something totally benign or something we’ll notice problems from later. So so comforting.

In March, my husband matched in a residency. His dreams and his hard work paid off right before our eyes. And as he promised my mom 3 years before, he got us home to California. And because of that, I was able to accept admission to the best graduate program in the country.

In April we found our new home. (In December we found out that part of it is going to become a dorm for the college nearby. Don’t even get me started).

In May I finished teaching. I finally managed to leave that noble career that drove me bat-shit crazy. My husband graduated from medical school and became a real doctor. And shortly thereafter we packed our entire house to leave New Orleans. 2009 will always be remembered as the year I left New Orleans for California, a move I thought I desperately wanted. But it’s also the year I realized how much I’d miss that rough-and-tumble city. How much it had become a part of me.

In June, I got a new kitten. A new kitten who has subsequently ripped up every single corner of carpet in our new apartment, bitten holes in the vertical blinds and spilled pomegranate juice on the carpet. He also cuddles and is adorable.

In June we also celebrated our first anniversary and thankfully stopped having the arguments every single damn day that plagued our first year of wedded bliss. It’s like someone switched a light switch on our marriage. I am truly happier with Slappy now than I have ever been.

In July I went to a conference with 10 trillion women, felt totally overwhelmed, yet also so welcome by so many wonderful people. I may or may not have taken part in a super secret pizza party in which I met a group of women (and Mike) that I still count among my friends.

It might seem ridiculous, but BlogHer was one of the highlights of my year. I felt like me there, I felt like I was among people who “get” the internet. I listened to a panel all about health blogging and realized that though sometimes I feel alone in this, I’m not. I was inspired, challenged, and I laughed until I damn near cried. And also helped Megan cross something off her bucket list. And you know, meeting Valerie Jarrett and listening to other women who weren’t stunned into silence talk with her about healthcare didn’t suck either.

August birthed this headache. The one that has carried through to December at the very least, and plagues my every waking moment. August was also the month I began graduate school and took up full time whine blogging. You’re all welcome for that.

September, October and November are a blur. A big suck filled blur. They involved a new neurologist, a horrible lumbar puncture, a spinal headache, 2 weeks on my back on my couch before a blood patch, a cisternogram which revealed nothing and a lot of tears. The only good thing I can even begin to say about those months are that they are done, they are in the past. And I know that’s terrible because some great things happened those months, but my mind was so burdened with pain and worry that it’s all I can remember.

December has been a roller coaster ride. I passed all my classes in graduate school, which still amazes me. Especially considering that this month I also lost the ability to sleep through a night. December is the month where my neurologist finally reached the end of her ability to help me and the month where I found a new doctor who is going to try.

It is easy for me to say that I want this year to end. Because, truly I do. I desperately I want a fresh start after the beating I’ve taken this year.

But as much as I want to start anew I also realize that after the clock strikes midnight tonight, the world is not going to magically change. There is no slate that is actually going to be wiped clean as I keep imagining it in my mind. The clock hitting a new number won’t change my life, it won’t change my health, it’s just a new day, like every other. And like each new day, I hope tomorrow brings something different, something less painful. Something like what I used to have.

I hope that 2010 brings days without pain, days without fear, days without sadness. But I also hope that the lessons I’ve learned and the obstacles I’ve traversed in 2009 will give me the tools and the grace to handle this new year and it’s inevitable new challenges.

In my Chanukah shopping, I had to stop into Hallmark to get a card for my sister-in-law. Hallmark, holiday card sanctuary, had walls and walls and rows and rows of Christmas cards. And one column of Chanukah cards. 12 in total. And 2 of them were combined Happy Chanukah/Merry Christmas cards.

I’m not standing up here to say that there needs to be an equal ratio of Christmas to Chanukah cards, but more than one column and *gasp* perhaps a roll of Chanukah wrapping paper wouldn’t be the end of the world. Or so I think any way.

I’m not, nor am I ever going to be, one of those people who’s offended if someone at a store wishes me a “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Chanukah” or “Happy Holidays.” Or if I get a card from friends or family that is Christmasy. Because, it’s not about that. Wishing someone a happy holiday, even if it’s not the one they practice is well-intended and that’s what I think the important thing is.

But there’s a line here.

A few years ago, something happened in my hometown. And at the time, I was all up in arms about it, but then, with time, sort of forgot about it. After my Hallmark experience, my memory was jogged.

Two years ago, the school district where I attended high school and worked for a year, got a new member to the board of trustees, and his very first order of business was not educational. It was not related to curriculum or even really students in the area.

His very first order of business was to change the names of Winter Vacation and Spring Break to Christmas and Easter Vacation (yes, I know I just linked you to a fox news article and my insides are burning a little for it, but it was the easiest article I could find on it).

In the article the trustee said that,

“We’re just trying to uphold American cultural and religious history,”

Bullshit.

Ahem. I mean. No. Just, no.

Because American cultural history also might include this little document we call the constitution. And historically speaking it has (for quite some time) contained an amendment stating that the government cannot establish a religion. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but Christmas, by it’s very name and tradition, is a Christian holiday. Easter is the mother of all Christian holidays (though the bunny is a very curious component). And public school districts? They are run by the government.

Hmmmm.

So please, please tell me, how does renaming vacations after Christian holidays in public schools uphold the American cultural history? And moreover, what the fuck is this American religious history? There is NO American religions history. This country was FOUNDED on the principles of freedom of religion. I don’t give a shit how many people are Christian, because that’s one of the beauties of this country. You can be whatever you want.

In 2007, 16% of the United States population did not practice a religion. 1.7% practiced Judaism. .7%, .6% and .4% practiced Buddhism, Islam and Hinduism, respectively. So, almost 20% of the population does not practice Christianity. So why is a public school allowed to observe religious holidays?

And moreover, who the HELL was it hurting to call it Winter Break? Or Spring Break?

I am not asking for anyone to stop wishing anyone else a Merry Christmas. I’m not asking for anyone to convert to another religion or even attempt to really understand another one. But I don’t think it’s unfair to ask a public school district to observe the 1st amendment. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want students who don’t observe Christmas to have it lauded above another holiday they might celebrate at the same time of year.

But that’s just me.

I only managed to stay away from twitter for about a day, but the break from being here, from feeling a little guilty about whining to all of you has been good for me. And in the time off I caught a fairly unpleasant cold, which would’ve only caused me to do a crap-ton (more) whining and let’s be honest, no one would benefit there.

I’m doing the best I can right now to be positive. My emotions are a little unpredictable and my attention is divided. But that’s nothing new. It’s just frustrating.

On Friday, I took one of the two remaining make up midterms I had. When I finished (and it was a tough test), my professor asked me if I wanted her to grade it right then. In case you wondered, the correct answer to that question is no. No no no no. Which, of course, means that I said yes.

And I did okay, missed some here and there, but thought the total would be in the mid-B range. So when she told me that I got a 79, I lost it.

I cried. In front of my professor. She was understanding and more than anything else, really insisted that I be proud of myself. Proud for getting back on track and passing a tough test.

But I wasn’t.

I wasn’t proud because I’ve not gotten below a B on anything since my sophomore year of college. I always get As and Bs. And I studied for that test. I studied for a solid week. But my mind has not been on school. It has not been on anything for more than a few minutes before entering full-on pity party mode. I passed the test (and as it turned out, I actually got an 81, which I can live with) and was not proud.

I am trying to change the way I think about things. To not be so hard on myself, to not be so in my head and obsessed with all of this, but it’s a huge challenge. I have ALWAYS been a straight A student. Always. I got one C in my whole life, and it was in college and it was a fluke that I’ve mostly blocked out of my mind.

My classmates are stressed about finals (which begin tomorrow), but not only do I have one extra test to take (a remaining makeup midterm), but I also am hearing material from the first time. I’m taking an anatomy exam tomorrow after only having stood in the lab 2 out of 10 times in this particular unit.

I’ve missed 20 days of school, by FAR the most of anyone in my class. And I am trying, but I might not pass all my finals.

And that is a really difficult reality to face.

I’m scared, because I’ve worked so hard. I stuck with this when things got really tough. I didn’t quit when I wanted to, but now I’ve reached an end point. I want to continue with this program. I found my passion for it again, but now the odds are stacked against me.

I want nothing more than to finish this semester and be able to start up again with my classmates in January. I want it so much it almost hurts. And I’m trying, I truly am, to stay positive and have faith in myself, but I’m floundering.

I know that if I don’t pass this semester, I’m never going to get over it. It will always be something that happened because of my brain. It’ll be another thing stolen from me by my health and I just don’t know if I can handle that. there are only so many things that I can lose to pain before I give up altogether.

I wish I could see into the future. I wish I could know what’s going to happen next, to know if this week will be my last week of school until January, or my last ever.

I wish I had some reassurance that the future was going to be okay. That some day, I might have a life not dictated by pain, but by my own decisions and actions. My life.